Autumn

The earth and leaves
leave an earthy scent
that sends me home,
refreshed from the homely,
weary ways in which the winds wave.

Crisp, October air bites
and comforts in the same breath.
Damp and dry,
Beauty and demise,
when life eclipses death.

The sun prepares her goodbyes
Her sorrow spectacularly lashes out
her tears splatter the sky.
She smoulders in a violet pout.
Her silver sister gleams in a stoic stride.

Au Revoir à Rien

Sometimes I wonder what’s in the dark.

Sometimes I wonder what lurks behind closed eyes.

Does the world end with a nap?
Or does the soul emerge from the mortal cocoon,
shedding the drudgery, the prejudice, the shackles of our pathetic past?

What was I supposed to do here?
I’ve been told that I need to find my Dad.
I called out for him, he went out for a jug of milk.
So I shrug and I sulk.
What’s the purpose of finding a purpose? I’d be dead lyin’ if I didn’t say that my deadline happening at any moment makes me feel alive.
Bless my poor little heart and the stress that I put it through
Earth returns to earth.
My hot blood spurts a scorching statement, it spits in the face of chance.

Fuck you and your comfort.
I’d rather be full of piss and vinegar
than full of regret.
Fuck me and my polite reserves
this is my life, it belongs to me.
I’d rather ruffle some feathers
than be a bird in a cage.

Stay on guard
Stay pissed off.
Smile in the face of anxiety
We chose half-truths and easy answers
over hard decisions
over rethinking our biases.

We chose of life of being
Docile, infertile.
Medicated, sedated.
tame, lame.
simple, limp.
Formulaic, archaic.

 

Choose life.

 

I’ll Carry You

When you can’t feel your hands,
when you can’t weather the storm.
I’ll Carry You,
back into familiar lands,
back into the warmth.

When your legs tremble,
when you cannot stand on your own
I’ll Carry You
until your strength assembles
and your name the world fears
and your name the world knows.

Yes, I’ll Carry You
when you’re yellow, when you’re green and when you’re blue.
When you’re healthy, when you’re sick,
when you’re ornery, when you’re ticked,
I’ll Still Carry You,
It starts with an “I Do”.

But much like my gold,
I’ll get spent, I’ll grow old.
I’ll Carry You
with a broken back, one knee
and a smiling face.
Like Depends, my bladder might be a maybe
I’ll Still Carry You

Much like this song,
soon I’ll be gone.
I’ll Still Carry You
when I’m laid to rest,
do not fear, do not fret.
I’ll Carry You
through our daughters and our sons
in my arms, in your love.

I’ll sit with St. Pete,
He’ll lean into me.
He’ll ask, “how did you get through life?”
I’ll say, “If I can bum a smoke and light,
I’ll tell you it’s alright.
You know what? It was kinda easy.
Because I had a great woman,

who carried me.

A Bright Man.

I don’t follow the newest news.
I don’t know how to say no.
I may not be a bright man,
but I do have some light, man.

How can I be well-read
without and good-reads?
How can I be a leader
and not tell another where to be led?

Is that a revelation?
The word reveals nothing, much ado.
Is that a revolution?
The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Is that evolution?
Stagnation loves having nothing to do.

Change takes time
But we take no time to change.

 

A Family of Roaches

I stroll through barren alleys and cracked cement,
unheard to me are the pleas of the roaches.

A titanic shadow approaches from above.
The end is near.
Sick in disease, they are, with a sickening disease.
They repulse mice, they repulse fleas.
The men welcome death.
The women have done their best to flee.
In inactivity, they wait to die.
In captivity, they say goodbye,
to pay the respects that they never had.

What am I to do
When I look down on my shoe?
I see a brother, a predator, a pest,
a life with no chance.
I shrug, and I stroll
for it is only a family of roaches.

The Oxen

The days pass him by with
the heat on his back.
The dirt in his face.
Sweat on his brow. 

He plows on
and on, and on.

With the sun’s faithful glow
and the rain’s nurturing gifts
The Oxen begins to watch his fields grow,
his labor yields a great bounty
as the seasons start to shift.
Much to The Oxen’s dismay,
the farmer takes him away.
To the corral, he goes,
just as he knows.
While the field is harvested and razed.

The grain is now stored in bins as tall as the sky,
The farmers are now fat and happy on bread, beer and rye.
While The Oxen shivers in his frozen stall
he begins to wonder if this is worth it at all.
The Oxen rests on his haystack prize.

The sun has returned, all is now well.
The soil and grass lift his spirit with their uplifting smell.
The Oxen prepares himself to return to work
when reality gives him a conspicuous jerk.
The farmer has sold him to dig trenches and wells.

The Oxen has given all that he can give.
Can one fear death when one hasn’t lived?
Hooven pads collapse in the mud.
Bladed whips lash into his blood.
The Oxen rises. Now a frail, crimson sieve.

The days pass him by
with the heat on his back.
The dirt in his face.
Sweat on his brow. 

He plows on
and on, and on.

Smothered

Breathless gasps
above raging waves.
Hapless grasps
slipping on the reigns.

A race that I cannot win,
A weight that I cannot lift.
Too little forgiveness of sin,
Too much space in this rift.

Pushed down,

down,

down.

Expected to rise.

I will drown
in the quicksand.
Small grains build muffled screams and burning eyes.

Throw me a rope.
Throw me a hand.

To get here you must have been a dope.
At least pretend like you understand.

Tar on my heels,
tar in my head.

I’m sorry if that’s the way you feel.
Maybe try growing up instead?

Smothered

Like a mother who won’t let go.

Undiscovered

Like under a dusty vinyl cover, the contents hidden and stowed.